Black Pirates
by Cup of Dihydrogen Monoxide
Summary: After tragedy strikes him, the last thing Lovino Vargas needs is to find himself hundreds of years in the past, staring into the eyes of a very familiar pirate. Spain/Romano.
1. Chapter 1

A slick mixture of sweat and blood trickled down the brunette's face as his breath came out in short, ragged pants. His hand tightened around the gun he held as he peeked around the corner with much caution.

"Come out; come out wherever you are, Vargas _scum_."

Lovino's scowl deepened further—if that was even possible—as he reloaded his gun and aimed with an eerily professional attitude; as if he did this on a daily basis. His finger curled around the trigger and he pressed down. BANG!—the familiar gunshot was followed by the sound of a lifeless body thumping on the ground made the boy's lips curve up into a sadistic grin. He stayed in his spot for a moment longer, to ensure the death of his newest victim, before staggering up and limping over to the body.

_Pity,_ he thought as he gazed into those void eyes, wiping the blood down his forehead. _I really think I could have used him._

Using the wall as support, Lovino limped out of the alleyway and stepped into dark, desolate road. The single streetlight located twenty feet away gave him enough light to notice two things: He could either take fifteen minutes to walk home _or_ he could catch a cab and take four minutes to get there. Lovino was limping, but he was also stubborn. So he walked.

* * *

"Ah, Lovi," A sugary sweet voice called out as the Italian man stepped into the mansion. "Your butt always looks so cute in those skinny jeans of yours." The voice said again and Lovino felt a pair of arms circling around his waist and alcohol tinted breath on his neck. With a swift motion, Lovino shoved the man off and did not blink when he crashed on the floor, sprawled in what looked like a rather painful position.

"Fuck off, France." He muttered, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it on the coat stand. A grumble of annoyance escaped his lips as he spotted the blood splatters on his white shirt—a new one. One he got from Spain.

"You've been fighting again," France said, this time the sugary sweetness gone from his voice, replaced by a dull seriousness. "You _know_ Antonio doesn't like your affiliation with the mafia, right?"

"I am well aware," he replied crisply. "And I could not care less." With that he began heading towards the stairs.

"You've been like this since that day, you know." Lovino paused and glanced down at his feet, fists curling. "Since the day he died," France continued. "Since the day your br—" France did not see the fist coming but boy did it hit hard.

"Francis!" Antonio appeared near the entrance and glanced around, alarmed by the deafening crash. "Lovi… what's going on?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Lovino replied, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why don't you ask _Francis_ what he did?" With that said, he stormed upstairs, ignoring the nation's cries to wait.

Upon reaching his room, the first thing he did was strip off his shirt and opened the closet door. Picking out a ratty brown shirt, he slipped it on and slumped onto the bed, closing his eyes.

What felt like a two minute nap was actually a two hour nap and were it not for Antonio slamming the door as he entered, it would have extended into the next day.

"I was cleaning up Francis." Antonio said quietly, sitting down on the bed next to Lovino as he started to sit up. "His hair was a bloody mess."

"He's a nation; he'll heal in two minutes."

"He may be a nation but he still feels pain, Lovi."

Silence.

"He's right though," the Spaniard continued speaking, ignoring Lovino's glare. "You haven't been the same since he died. Lovi… he's gone and if he saw you like this… he'd be hurting. Lovi, _please_," Antonio reached for his hand and held it. "_Please_."

"Why the _fuck_ do you have to be so pathetically soft?" A look of hurt crossed the older nation's face but Lovino continued. "It makes me absolutely _sick_! You're Spain, the great _conquistador _of a time. Why. Are. You. So. Weak?"

Without another word, Lovino jumped out of bed and ran out of the room, ran out of the house and ran out of the neighborhood.

* * *

When he woke up, it was bright. Incredibly, annoyingly and unusually bright. The smell was different too—it did not smell like the trash can he remembered sitting down next to, neither did it smell anything like his house, let alone his room. It smelled fresh, it smelled nice, it smelled like a beach.

_What the fuck?_

He bolted up and looked around, a panicked frenzy in his eyes as he tried to figure out where the _hell_ he was. He glanced down at himself and observed his attire: He was wearing exactly what he remembered wearing and it was exactly the way he remembered it so he probably hadn't done anything he'd regret.

"_¡__Capitán! __¡__Encontré algo!_"

His head swirled to the origin of the voice and his jaw dropped, oh you know, a couple thousand inches. The man walking towards him was, well, different. His skin had a perfect tan; his eyes were a shiny golden and hair, dark, short and spiky.

"_Es una persona!_" he man shouted back. Lovino began to stand up, desperately thinking about how he was going to explain the situation to this man but before he could move even an inch, there was a sharp blade pointing to his face and the man was hissing, "_¡__Quédate quieto!_"

Swallowing his pride and spit, Lovino raised his arms, in a gesture of surrender.

"_¡Alejandro! __¿Qué es?_"

If it was, by some miracle, even possible, Lovino's jaw dropped even further at the man who was now heading towards them. He would know thos green eyes anywhere he went, he would recognize those luscious Brown curls even on his death day. He would not, on the other hand, even be able to fathom why the _fuck_ he would be wearing that stupid pirate uniform, especially those incredibly… tight… pants. He felt his mouth go dry.

"_Lo llevan._"

Then it all went black.

* * *

FINE. FINE, I'M DOING IT AGAIN. I'm attempting **another** multi-chapter fic. This is the prologue, I'm expecting ten more chapters and maaaaaybe an epilogue. Also, I feel like a fucking hyprocrite now. I always complain about how annoying it is when people put a foreign language and here I am, doing it myself. Ha. I swear, I will keep it to a mínimum though. So, without further ado, I present to you, _los traducciones! _

"_¡__Capitán! __¡__Encontré algo!_" – "Captain! I found something!"

"_Es una persona!_" – "It's a person!"

"_¡Alejandro! __¿Qué es?_" – "Alejandro! What is it?"

"_Lo llevan._" – "Take him."

I must say, I'm only taking my second year of Spanish and I'm definitely avoiding any kind of translators so any Spanish help would be deeply appreciated!

Also, expect weekly updates. Or maybe even biweekly for just now since exams are in two weeks. What a bad time to start a new fic, lol.

**NO PROMISES ON COMPLETION. ;-;**


	2. Chapter 2

Upon awakening, Lovino could hear a pair of voices discussing something in feverish tones. Realizing they were conversing in Spanish, the Italian immediately tried to listen closely, regretted not taking Spain's advice to learn the language better. They were speaking so damn fast! His mind wandered to where he was, oh how badly he wanted to open his eyes but the risk was far too great. Only God knew who these people were: They could be murderers, rapists or perhaps mentally ill patients who had escaped from Shutter Island!

He made no move to let these people know he was awake but he listened carefully, deciphering their words one by one.

"_S__í__, el capitán Carriedo tiene..."_

Lovino tuned out the voices immediately and his head started spinning and he immediately thought of the man he saw yesterday. The familiar voice telling "Alejandro" to take him prisoner. Is it possible that he had time traveled? Unless Spain had some crazy twin brother he never spoke about, that was the only logical conclusion to this odd predicament.

A prolonged silence told Lovino that he was alone in this room—the other two must have left while he was not paying attention. Slowly, he pushed the thin blanket off his body. The first thing he noticed was the cool air brushing against his arms and legs and he looked down to observe his attire.

He was in a sailor outfit. A fucking sailor outfit. A. Fucking. Sailor. Outfit.

Scrambling off the bed, he threw himself against the small, circular window and pressed his nose against the glass like a young child would against the glass doors to the most expensive candy shop in town. His knees went weak. Vast ocean met his eyes and not a single piece of land was in sight. Stepping back, he felt his knees give away as he collapsed on the floor. He heard a crash, then frenzied footsteps followed by the sound of a door opening and someone hoisting him up. He heard them speaking to him—in Spanish of course—but he paid no attention. His legs were still trembling and he could feel his heart race seventy miles an hour.

"Boy," he heard one of the men say, his mind immediately focusing upon hearing the familiar language. "Nod if ye understand me." Slowly, he nodded, his eyes fixated on the wooden floor.

"Our orders," he continued in heavily accented English, "are to bring ye to Captain Carriedo's office. Think ye can stand?"

_Of course I can fucking stand,_ Lovino wanted to growl. It wasn't that he was weak—_no, of course I'm not_, he told himself—he was just shocked (_yes, shocked. Not weak. Shocked_). But he just nodded.

* * *

Antonio sat on his desk, quill in hand and mind racing as he began his letter to a fellow pirate. How troublesome it was to be a conquistador. Petty arguments were a common occurrence between ships and frankly, he was getting annoyed. But this letter wasn't "petty" at all. No sir, without it they would be in some deep trouble. Touching quill to parchment, he started writing, _Dear Arth—_

His hand skidded across the parchment, causing an ugly black smudge to appear as someone continued to bang on his door. Annoyed—and partially frustrated with the waste of his letter—Antonio's face greeted his palm as he muttered an annoyed "_come in,"_ in his native tongue.

"Captain, 'e is awake. 'e seems to understand English."

Placing the quill back on the stand, Antonio motioned for him to let the boy in. "_Gracias, Alejandro._"

The door closed and the two were left alone in the room now, an awkward silence hanging in the air as no one said a word yet maintained a steady eye contact. Antonio reached into a basket that rested on his table and pulled out several objects: A bulky wallet, a gun and a black leather jacket.

He observed the captive's face and noticed his eyes widening, lips parting and simply looking lost for words.

"Unless I am mistaken," he uttered in flawless English. "There are your belongings, am I ri—?"

"Don't open it." The boy interrupted; a slight look of panic forming in his eyes.

"I will not," He smiled as the boy's look of relief. "As long as you truthfully and correctly answer three questions of mine. One, what is your name? Two, why were you on that beach. Three, where do you come from?"

He watched the boy's shoulders tense, his brows furrow together and his teeth bite down on his lips and he looked in amusement, feeding off his prisoner's discomfort.

"My name is L-Lovino. Lovino Ca-Vargas." He began, hesitation and discomfort evident in his voice. "I don't know how I landed on that… island. I am from… far away."

"You are speaking the truth. Not the whole truth, but still the truth."

"Yes, I a—"

"It was not a question." Antonio grabbed Lovino's belongings and set them back in the basket. "Leave. Find Alejandro and tell him to give you some job—perhaps cleaning the deck or the dungeons. They're both equally filthy."

With that said, Antonio drew a fresh parchment and began writing the letter as he watched the boy, Lovino, leave through the door.

* * *

The cool breeze hit Lovino full on as he stepped into the open air, causing him to shiver involuntarily. He was, after all, still dressed in that ridiculous sailor outfit of his that was neither flattering nor warm. Out of nowhere, he felt a wooly object thrown on his face. Spluttering like an idiot, he peeled the material off his face to observe it.

"Ye might wanna put that on, boy. It's a chilly night and _Capitán_ doesn't like it when his prisoners get sick. Gets really annoyed and starts cursing about how 'e should have just left ya there."

Silently, Lovino slipped on the coat (which look an awful lot like the one England had in his house) and avoided eye contact with the man.

"Cat got yer tongue, lad?" He laughed at the boy's irritated expression. "Dunno if ye caught my name but it's Alejandro. Gonna tell me yours or do I still gotta call you _boy_ and _lad_?"

"L-Lovino."

"That's a very pretty name, lad. Ye look tired. What did the _capitán_ tell you to do?"

"He told me to leave and tell Alej—you to give me some kind of job. Like cleaning the dungeon or deck."

"Ah, of course, typical of 'im to give you a job right away. Look 'ere kid," Alejandro said, slinging his arm around the Italian's shoulder. "I'll be kind person fer today and clean up the deck. You look tired as 'ell so 'ow about I escort ye to yer cabin and tuck ye in for the night."

"Sounds good." Lovino mumbled.

* * *

Holy shit guys! Fourteen reviews? I feel flattered! 3 For those who are wondering, I do plan on completing this fic and trust me, I have a lot of ideas for the next couple of chapters. –giggle-

I do have a question for you guys though. I'd like to include Prussia in this story but he probably didn't exist back then so… would it bug any of you guys if I did that? Just wondering. Also hopefully none of you have anything against OC nations because there already is one—you just don't know yet. ;D

My next update should be quicker because I have no exams to worry about! :D

**Translations:  
**"_S__í__, el capitán Carriedo tiene..."_ – "Yes, Captain Carriedo has…"

Till next time, adieu! -insert heart here-


End file.
